Short Stories
by pyschogambitable
Summary: A collection of short stories written by yours truly. Most of the first few will be some taken from my writing course, the later ones will be from my own mind.
1. Ashes to Ashes

A/N: This is the first of many that were actually written for a course. A good majority of the short stories that I will be submitting here are from a writing course -simply because anything that I wrote before the course -minus my novel which I have in a notebook- was lost when my computer decided to die on me. Anyways, the purpose for this story was to bring two characters together, with the focal point being a single item.

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><p><span> Ashes to Ashes<span>

It was fitting how cloudy the day was; the sun would peak through every now and then but, like an unwanted guest, it wouldn't stay long. The day was cool, not just from the shade of the trees and the lack of sun; a brisk breeze was blowing, rippling the water of the ever flowing creek and shaking the branches of the lush green trees. She was sitting on a bench, placed perfectly between two trees, staring out at the water as her sister approached; a marble urn firmly grasped between her hands. She had just finished her third year of University; her sister had already graduated.

She didn't turn at the sound of the footsteps from behind her; she already knew who they belonged to after all. With a deep sigh, her sister claimed the seat beside her; deep blue eyes focusing immediately on the small urn.

"How are you doing, Maddie?" the older sister asked, trying to keep the sorrow from their meeting out of her mind for just a moment.

"Been better," joked Maddie, stroking the urn subconsciously.

A wave of sadness washed over the elder sister as fond memories flashed through her mind of the urn's occupant; a beloved friend and family member. It had been a year since they had received the news of the untimely death of their dear pet, and given how far away each of their school's had been from home, both had felt that they had been robbed of saying a proper goodbye.

Maddie's mind drifted the Christmas before his death, how he had chased them up and down the snow covered hills as they went sledding. Of course, after that memory had passed, more followed. How he was the only golden retriever, most likely, in the world that was terrified of water. How he had jumped over the couch to steal a slice of pizza from her sister's hand, there was no telling what that dog would do for a slice of pizza. How he always knew when you needed to cuddle, and how he'd always look up at you when you were sad, his big brown eyes saying, "It's okay, I'm here."

Tears began rolling from her eyes and she hastily wiped them away, they hadn't even started their ceremony.

"Are you ready?" her sister asked, placing a slightly tanned over her Maddies' paler one. Her response was just a nod, tears returning to Maddies' soft green eyes. The pair stood up in unison and walked towards the eater's edge, dropping to their knees where it was most dry. Gently stroking the lid, as though it were the head of the lost companion, Maddie took a deep breath and removed it, reaching a tentative hand into the abyss. She pulled out a handful, her sister followed suite, and closed her eyes.

"Remember when he attacked the Christmas moose?" Maddie's sister asked, her voice cracking from tears.

"Or when he followed behind you, eating the trail you were trying to leave so the rabbits would go into the humane trap?" laughed Maddie, no longer able to stop the freely flowing tears.

"He was a great dog," they said in unison.

_ He was the best dog,_ they thought before giving him a heartfelt goodbye before letting the wind scatter the ashes into the creek.


	2. Dance with the Devil

A/N: This piece is definitely one of my favourites, though I did have a hard time ending it (I'm pretty sure it's noticeable). Anyways, with this piece I wanted to take something that takes mere seconds and extend it to where it feels like more. In this case, Bronco riding. While to the audience, it is only an 8 second event; those 8 seconds could feel like forever to the one in the saddle, especially if they draw a difficult ride.

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><p><span>Dance With The Devil<span>

A deep-throated scream escaped the muzzle of a four-year old chestnut skewbald paint stallion as he was tied up in a holding pen. Around him, men worked to place the well-used western saddle on his brown and white patched back and attach a red, dusty lead line to his halter. He half-reared in the pen as a booming voice echoed through the arena.

"We're lookin' at David Jacksons from right here in Calgary, Alberta. He's had a lot of luck this past year and this is his second time riding in the Stampede. He's drawn "Wild Pride" for his bronco and he'll be needing that same luck for this ride."

A tall, buff looking man gave a polite wave to the onlookers before he hopped over the railing and to lower himself carefully into the saddle for the saddled-bronco riding competition.

"You be careful about this one, Dave, he's a real character," warned one of the handlers, readying to open the gate, "you sure you don't want a helmet?"

"I've handled difficult broncs before," waved off the rider, grabbing hold of the lead line.

The horse's nostrils flared as he pawed the ground with one hoof, wishing he had more room to show this man what he thought of him. Pinning his chestnut ears flat against his skull, he paced from foot to foot, knowing that that gate blocking him from the arena would open eventually, he had seen it before.

A nod passed between David and the gate's handler.

"And here we go!"

The gate opened with an audible creak and the stallion leapt forward with a loud squeal, bucking his way across the dirt. For a young horse his bucks were powerful, making the man swing back and forth like a ragdoll tied to the back of a dog. The stallion reared once onto his hind legs, then resumed bucking, only this time, hopping straight up into the air and twisting his body in random directions. Spinning and hopping and twisting and bucking; the young horse looked like a dancer performing a difficult piece in front of a room of critics. When his new tactic failed, he shot forward into a full-fledged gallop, racing around the arena, kicking up dust and brushing his sides against the wall of the arena, hoping to brush his nuisance off in the process. His nostrils flared as a wall of human scent attacked them at every turn.

He skidded to a stop with the skill of reining champion and spun on his haunches, spinning right and left, trying to make the rider dizzy before rocketing forward again. His hooves pounded against the dirt as foam dripped from his mouth and blood from his shoulders; the man's spurs were cutting too deeply, drawing blood like a never ending assault from a swarm of black flies. Sweat pooled on his neck and sides, his breathing was heavy but not with fatigue. Each breath he inhaled was caked in dust, which made each exhale sound like a desperate gasp.

He stopped suddenly once more and yanked his head to the ground, trying to pull the man right off his back. He felt the man lose his balance slightly, but because of the shape of the front of the saddle, he managed to right himself before the yearling could react in another attempt to de-seat him. Both horse and rider had an idea of what to do next.

The man figured the horse would try a stunt like that again, and he would be ready the next time; the horse, however, had a different plan.

Once more, he exploded into a gallop around the arena, making quick stops and turns, trying to throw the man off his plan. He ran down the length of the arena and slid to a stop once more. The man set himself back, ready for the pull, but the colt did not pull down, instead he reared up.

David wildly grasped for the tips of the horse's short brown mane, but in vain. Having leaned so far back and sitting so deep in the saddle, expecting a second attempt by the horse to pull him out of the saddle, he set himself up for falling backwards. He tumbled off the horse's back and landed on his head, getting a mouth full of the mixture of dirt and manure that blanketed the arena's floor.

The brown and white splashed stallion gave him a look that said, 'I dare you to try that again,' before trotting off, head and tail held high in triumph.

David walked off with a disappointed shake of his head, never had he experienced a ride like that one. Spitting the dirt out of his mouth, and wiping his face with an equally as dusty hand, he watched in awe as the little painted devil fought the very handlers that were just trying to bring him back out to freedom. Wild Pride. Rubbing his sore neck, he couldn't help but think the horse had been well named.

"You alright son?" a wrangler asked. An honest question, as David had been standing right where he had fallen for a good couple of minutes.

Forcing a smile onto his pale pink lips, he answered with a hoarse, "You don't worry about me, I've fallen off meaner horses than that one."

He could tell the older cowboy didn't believe him, and was grateful he didn't say otherwise. Limping out of the arena, around him voices whispered, "Just an unlucky draw." "From what I've seen, he's lasted the longest on that one." "Pride'll get the best of any young cowboy." "That horse is worth nothing more than a bullet in its head, if they keep using him someone's bound to get hurt bad." Above all of the human voices though, David could still clearly hear the stallions frantic, screaming whinny echoing down the chute.

He could still feel the thrilling sensation of the bronco's thundering hooves against the arena dirt; what speed that animal had. Each buck was different from the last, some weaker -no doubt to throw him off- followed by much more powerful ones. And what a calculating mind, to figure out the best way to de-seat him in a manner of seconds.

Wild Pride was a money maker, people paid to see cowboys get flung off him -it was entertainment for them. And the cowboys were thrilled to ride him, to get a real challenge under them, they knew the first one able to stay on for the full 8 seconds would be made a legend. They would never get rid of him, no matter what people said. The loud cheers when his name was called as the mount were evidence of how much the audience enjoyed watching him work.

Bronco riding always had its risks, and if you're going to dance with the devil, then you're going to get burned.


	3. Dream of Gliding

A/N: Yet another writing course piece. In this piece we had to take something (an object, a person, etc.) that "you" really want, describe it, then describe the feeling of not getting that item, and then at the very end describe the feeling of discovering that you did get that item. To be completely honest, it was not an easy piece for me to write. Growing up I had learned that if I wanted something I had to earn it; so I never really had something that I wanted so much that not getting it would devastate me. If wanted it that badly, I just worked for it; did extra chores, helped make meals etc. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

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><p><span>Dream of Gliding<span>

The boots were pearly white, the light bouncing off them and encasing them in an almost heavenly glow. The wooden sole was attached to the glimmering, silver blade only by a few small screws. The curved blade was shining in the artificial light, the toe pick unused and razor sharp. The gold hooks, four on each side of the skate, were just begging to be laced up; to find that small foot that would fit perfectly inside the boot. The boot itself would reach up to about half-way up the calf and the blade was about four millimeters thick, and smaller in length to those worn by the older, more experienced skaters. Beside it were skate guards of every colour; long pieces plastic that could cover the blade to prevent one from hurting themselves.

I watched, painfully, as the storekeeper pulled them from the display case to package them away for the waiting customer. Ever since I had seen a local figure skating competition I had begged and pleaded with my parents to get me skates, to let me try and glide across the ice with as much grace as the professionals. I had dragged them to the sports shop and pointed out the lovely ivory skates, but one glance at the price tag was all my parents needed to crush my dreams. With a shake of their head, and an apologetic look, they told me that they could not afford the skates. My heart felt as though a heavy weight had just landed on it, crushing it completely; I would never experience the feeling of gliding across the ice. I wanted to cry, to throw a temper tantrum and demand the skates- but what was the point. It wouldn't make them mine; they would never be mine.

At least that was what I had thought, come Christmas morning there was a neatly wrapped box from my grandparents, sitting all alone in the corner behind the tree. At first I had thought it just to be a new pair of pajamas, as that was their usual gift, but upon lifting the box, I discovered it to be much too heavy to simply be pajamas. I tore off the wrapping and lifted the box lid. My heart swelled at the sight, for it was none other than those very skates that I had been pinning over for the past month. I so desperately wished that we had a frozen lake nearby, just so that I could try them. I could hardly contain my happiness as I hugged them to me, the blades sheathed inside a protective plastic guard so that they would not stab me. In my head, I could see myself among those ice skaters that I had watched, performing jumps and spins with the utmost grace. I would be skating in a shimmering red dress, I decided, with the most regal of tracks playing for my routine. I could not wait. Dad promised he'd take me to the rink tomorrow, and for that night all I could do was dream of gliding.


	4. Love of the Game

A/N: This one is a little trick to explain. Basically the assignment was write a scene involving two siblings playing a game. The game would decide who would get the rights to their Grandparents cottage in PEI -though this isn't suppose to be known to the reader until the end. Once completed, summarize the story, then combine the summary and the scene to create the final story. To make it easier to read, I will be breaking the story up a bit. (To any who ask why Risk? It's the only board game that I can actually remember all the rules to since I played it every year since I was six years old with my family at New Years).

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><p><span>Love of the Game<span>

Liz and Miranda moved their pieces across the board. Liz placed her little green armies all across Asia, parts of Africa, and a little bit of South America, for good measure. Miranda laid her pink armies across the rest of the "world", claiming North America, Europe, Australia, and parts of South America and Africa. With a roll of the dice, the game was on. Liz was the first to move, and she began bulking up her territories that were bordered by Miranda's armies, protecting them from invasion. She placed some in Siam, Ursul, Afganistan, Brazil, Egypt and North Africa -running out of armies to place in Kamchatka, even with her 7 army bonus. Deciding to wait until a better opportunity presented itself, she ended her turn by picking up a risk card. Miranda smiled widely, counting out her armies, unlike her sister, she got three army bonuses, 5 armies for controlling all of North America, 5 more for Europe and 2 for Australia. She made fast work, bulking up the territories she wanted to attack with, not bothering with defense. If she built up a big enough attack army, she wouldn't have to worry about Liz taking a couple of territories, in the end she'd win them back.

As soon as her armies were laid out, she attacked Brazil, wanting another attack port into Africa aside from the two she already had. Her army suffered a great loss, but in the end, was victorious in claiming Brazil as a new territory. Deciding against attacking again, she drew her card and let her sister begin her second turn.

Back and forth they played, one setting up multiple defenses, the other attacking ruthlessly. Land was gained and lost on both sides as, in some instances, Liz's defenses were too great for Miranda to break through, leaving her army vulnerable to conquest; and for others, Miranda's attack force was too powerful, plowing through Liz's little green army. And yet, even with Miranda's powerful armies, there was more green spreading than there was pink. So much more, that Liz eventually had to break open the black armies to keep up with all the territories she had.

Liz had been very lucky with her rolls, especially when they most counted. Throughout the entire game, not once did Miranda gain a foothold into Asia, keeping Liz's 7 army bonus intact. That being said, Liz also could not enter Australia, no matter how many armies she had in Siam.

Little was spoken between the two, aside from a couple of "yes"'s of victory, or "no"'s of defeat. Maniacal laughter was also heard when one of the two had managed to get three matching cards that meant they would get an even greater army bonus.

One hour turned into two, and soon all that was left of that pink army was the four territories that made up "Australia": Eastern Australia, Western Australia, Indonesia, and New Guinea.

"Your move," Miranda said, defeat evident in her voice. There was no reclaiming the lost territories, she was finished.

Liz looked at her older sister, shaking her head. "You never learn," she sighed, "you always plowed ahead with this game, never stopping to think what might happen if you focused less on attacking and more on fortifying your location. You maybe older Mir, but you definitely not wiser."

"Way to rub salt into the wound," joked Miranda, "we already know you've one just roll the dice."

And with those words, Liz was taken back. Back to that summer in their grandparents' home where they first played Risk. A storm had hit, so the sister's could go outside and their grandparents' TV didn't have very good reception, so they were stuck, twiddling their thumbs with nothing to do. That was when their grandfather walked in, carrying the old Risk board with him. And from the moment the first die was cast, they were in love with the game.

It was fitting, that it would be this game that decided it. It was the first game they played together that not only encouraged fighting, but didn't cause them to break into an argument over cheating. There was no way to cheat with the rules in place.

Liz had heard that line many times in their years of playing Risk, well, at least once she had begun beating Miranda at it. And it also brought back the memories of those nice days on Prince Edward Island, when they would be playing outside. Miranda had more memories of that place; she always got more excited when their parents told them they were going; she always talked about it more. She loved it more. Most of Liz's memories revolved around the game. Playing it for the first time; beating her sister for the first time; beating her grandfather for the first time. She loved the game more than she loved the house.

"I'll tell you what," Liz said, taking the dice in her hands, "I clearly love this game more than you do." She quickly stopped her sister before she could argue, "If I beat you, I get to keep Nana and Gran's original version," she patted the game's lid at her feet as she spoke, "and you can have that old house. Deal?"

"I thought we were just playing for the house?"

"We were... until I realized that if I got the house, that would mean you'd get the game... only fair."

Miranda smiled at her sister, realizing what she was getting at. "Alright, you win, you get the game."

They shook hands and the die was cast.

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><p>Miranda and Liz begin playing the board game Risk to decide who would get their grandparents house in Prince Edward Island. Liz decides to fortify her armies rather than attack Miranda's outright; Miranda takes the opposite approach. They play for two hours until Liz takes over most of the world, except for Australia, which still belongs to Miranda. Before rolling the dice to invade Miranda's last territories, Liz strikes up a new deal after realizing that Miranda loved the house more than the game, while she loved the game more than the house. They agree to the new terms and continue playing. It is unspoken, but Liz is the victor.<p>

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><p>Liz and Miranda moved their pieces across the board. Liz placed her little green armies all across Asia, parts of Africa, and a little bit of South America, for good measure. Miranda laid her pink armies across the rest of the "world", claiming North America, Europe, Australia, and parts of South America and Africa. With a roll of the dice, the game was on. Liz was the first to move, and she began bulking up her territories that were bordered by Miranda's armies, protecting them from invasion. She ended her turn by drawing a risk card.<p>

Miranda placed her extra armies in one territory, planning on attacking Liz and weakening her defenses. Successfully, she invaded Brazil, leaving a new entry port to North Africa. With her army not strong enough to invade Africa just yet, she ends her turn.

They played for two hours, with Liz's army quickly overpowering Miranda's until all that is left is Australia.

Liz remembered the first time she played this very board, it belonged to their grandparents. It was their first summer staying in Prince Edward Island, and from the very beginning Liz loved the game. Miranda, no matter how much she enjoyed the game, didn't love it nearly as much as Liz did. Her love was the house. The house she always dreamed of going back to every summer.

Remembering that, Liz came to a decision. If one of them got the house as a memento of their grandparents, then the other would get the board, and Liz wanted the board more than the house.

"I'll tell you what," Liz said, taking the dice in her hands, "I clearly love this game more than you do." She quickly stopped her sister before she could argue, "If I beat you, I get to keep Nana and Gran's original version," she patted the game's lid at her feet as she spoke, "and you can have that old house. Deal?"

"I thought we were just playing for the house?"

"We were... until I realized that if I got the house, that would mean you'd get the game... only fair."

Miranda smiled at her sister, realizing what she was getting at. "Alright, you win, you get the game."

They shook hands and the die was cast.

In five turns, Liz won the game, and Miranda left with the deed to the house.


	5. Loyal Dog

A/N: I think this one is pretty self-explanatory, but anyone who is confused by its prompt can feel free to message me.

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><p><span>Loyal Dog<span>

Stride by stride, slowly but surely he was getting closer to the noose. His charge? Treason. He had been nothing but loyal to that bastard and he was being hanged for treason. Ed let out a low snort, remembering what his da used to say about the Governor. _"Nothing but a pompous, no-good rich boy that you have no choice but to obey." _Since the moment he was born, in the summer of 1745, that was all his da would say.

His mind didn't linger long on his da's words, but shifted to a memory of his mum. His loving caring mum who always greeted everyone with the warmest of smiles and the cheeriest "hellos". The memory was burned into his mind, simply because it was all her. Every word she had said was etched with her kindness.

_He had come home with an injured dog in his arms, its blood staining his clothes and its soft whimpers bringing tears to his eyes. He was only ten at the time and his mum was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for when his da got back. At first glance, she had screamed at the sight, thinking it to be something other than it was, but then her gaze shifted into a sympathetic look that only a mother could get as he placed the dog on the table. _

_ "How could someone do this mum?" he had asked, innocently as he stroked the poor dogs head._

_ "The cruelest of men find a reason, even when there is none. The dog might have disobeyed an order and his owner felt it was deserving of such a harsh punishment," his mum explained, taking a clean cloth and doing what she could to help the animal. The wounds weren't as bad as she anticipated. _

His da never questioned the sudden appearance of a new family member, seemed almost grateful for it since the dog helped keep the foxes away from the chickens and geese. The dog was loyal, kind -like his mum- and quickly became Ed's best friend. It had broken his heart when he had to say goodbye.

Now, he felt like that dog; there had been no disloyalty from him, and yet the Governor had found a reason to hang him. But unlike the dog, there was no kind family to take him in, give him a warm home filled with love until his time came to pass on. No, he would hang. He would die, and the Governor would continue doing what he pleased.

He was next now; his eyes looked up at the Governor. He wondered if he felt guilty at all, knowing he was condemning an innocent man. Probably not. _"The cruelest of men find a reason..."_ His mum's words echoed through his mind once more as he was dragged up to the platform. The noose was fitted around his neck, but his eyes never left the Governor. The hang man checked it once, then twice, before returning to his position at the lever. _"The cruelest of men..." _The man nodded, the lever was pulled, and in one fluid motion his neck was snapped.


	6. The Hunt

A/N: Like with Love of the Game, I will be breaking this one up for the sake of the reader's sanity. With this, again I feel it is self explanatory, but the idea was to write in the perspective of a pursuer and the one he/she/it is pursuing.

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><p><span>The Hunt<span>

Snow danced across the ground as the wind lifted the loose tufts to play with. Although it was a light wind, it was none-the-less bitter as was usual for this time of year. The snow continued to dance at the mouth of a winding path that lead up the icy mountain as clouds shielded the world from the sun's rays, casting the territory into a shadowy darkness.

Through the snow, I could just make out the outline of a forest, a sanctuary. It would be all too easy to lose my pursuers in the dense forest. I lengthened my stride, digging my feet deeper into the snow to give myself a better lift off. There was blood dripping from an open gash on my right leg, I don't even recall how I got it, but I knew it was aiding the hunters in knowing which direction I had gone in.

I had got there scent on an off breeze before they had got mine, I had the slight advantage because of it, but with the pain in my leg I knew I was going my fastest.

I was nearing the forest, not much longer now. Behind me, the sound of the baying wolves got louder; they were getting closer. I didn't chance a look over my shoulder, my wide eyes were focused on the forest, it was my only chance. My heart was beating against my ribcage like a jail inmate and my lungs were screaming for more oxygen. Even though I was growing more and more tired with each stride, I didn't slow. I couldn't. My very life depended on it.

Four strides away, I could make it.

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><p>The scent had made me wild with bloodlust. The winter had been hard, leaving little to no food for us. I bounded across the snow ahead of my brethren, it was not getting away. I could barely feel the bitter wind as it blew into my face, for with it, carried the fresh smell of blood. My pink tongue lolled from my open mouth, my breathing heavy from the strain. My family and I were just skin and bone, little muscle left. Without this meal, we would probably die.<p>

I let out an excited bark, I could make out the shadow of the beast ahead of me. We were getting close. We had followed the trail of blood in the snow, hoping it would pay off, and it did. Unfortunately, I could also make out the dark forest not far from our meal, we had to catch it before it made that final leap into the woods.

I leaped skillfully over rocks, pushing myself to go faster. I was a mere six strides away from it, I could almost taste our well deserved meal. Our meal set itself back onto its haunches, it's muscles showing clearly through its brown fur. It was trying to make a final leap into the forest. I took a chance, willing my muscles to not give out on me. I leapt towards the stag, my jaws wide and my claws bared.

My fangs met flesh as the life flowing juices ran into my mouth. I hung on tightly, not letting our meal escape. My family surrounded the deer, it was done. There would be no escape. We would live.


End file.
